Just Write

A freewriting thread where we can, as the title suggests, just write. It can be nonsensical. It can be some elaborate theory. Or even a growing idea in your head. Here are the rules for the thread, however;

Time yourself. Don't take more than 15 minutes for this piece.

Don't go back and edit. It's all about how well you can write as things come to you.

Don't worry about word choice or even meaning. Use the first word that comes to mind.

At first, I had no idea at all what to write. So, I didn't even bother trying. But now that I have an idea, i'm going to write it out now.
I am currently drinking tea as I watch a movie and fill out a college application. I'm going be attending Academy of Art University next year. Hopefully on-campus, but I suppose I could settle for doing it online if I have to. I'll be majoring in game design. I've been wanting to do that ever since I was in third grade. It has been a major goal of mine.
Now, I believe it is time for me to end this post. I wish to go back to filling out my application.

“Take the risk of thinking for yourself. Much more happiness, truth, beauty, and wisdom will come to you that way. I promise."

I lamented the death of its author, having wished to see an end to the series (even though I've never read a book of it, knowing whether or not it even could "end"). I suppose I'll have to start reading the series.

"Censorship is telling a man he can't have a steak just because a baby can't chew it."
— Mark Twain

“I divide my officers into four classes; the clever, the lazy, the industrious, and the stupid. Each officer possesses at least two of these qualities. Those who are clever and industrious are fitted for the highest staff appointments. Use can be made of those who are stupid and lazy. The man who is clever and lazy however is for the very highest command; he has the temperament and nerves to deal with all situations. But whoever is stupid and industrious is a menace and must be removed immediately!”
— General Kurt von Hammerstein-Equord

NSFW scenes suggested/discussed (if this is considered too racy then please take this down)

Spoiler

She smirked at her wide eyes and flushed cheeks. 'You were fucking someone in the library' she had said. It wasn't a lie but to hear her say it out loud with such a shocked and innocent tone brought her more delight than she imagined. As if she didn't know what students did in the quiet corners of the library. You would call it reading of some kind but it wasn't the kind a library existed for. No it was the kind when two or more would read each others bodies.

I wonder if this is how I should word this situation in the story I've been writing. It is what I've imagined in my head but I feel like I'm missing something or not expressing something enough.

A sandstorm raged across the dull green and gray facility. High above me, I saw the communication tower's red beacon, more of a symbol than an actual piece of the communications system. I sat under it with my assault rifle primed to go. The rest went swirling about to cover, clinging to whatever advantage they could get before the enemy would cross the facility's threshold.

I've fought this war before. And before that. And before that as well, and so on.

Eventually you get jaded, even by the pain. Clones are always pumped full of pain-killers before battle and the dropsuits, no matter their weight classification, were meant to decrease the pain intake. It can't block everything out, especially when you're getting hit with super heated plasma and rail guns and scrambler rays. You're still going to feel it, but whether or not you care is something different. I've stopped caring.

There was a rumbling. To the inexperienced, it sounded like lightning in the sandstorm but really it was a Madruguar, standard variant to be exact, charging forward. The other mercenaries knew of the sound well enough to change formation. They scrambled to get their rockets and Anti-Vehicular weapons ready.

Then it came through.

And I stood and watch.

Flashes, crashes, and a lot of weaponry fire filled the air. I lifted the rifle quickly and aimed at the nearest head I could see. Without much effort my Assault Rifle ripped through their shielding and burned through the armor. I began to move with it, holding my aim, placing my aim on the next target.

What they see as freedom, my people see as anarchy. It's only been a few days but our kingdom is in shambles and we as citizens are left to fend for ourselves as the nation is in the verge of collapse. Again.

The monarchy had always ruled with an iron fist yet it was their oppression of the lower classes that kept the peace and ensured our stability. After the last queen's assassination, the peasants of the countryside rose up in rebellion. Famine and mass murder soon followed.

Amidst all the chaos, the Great Uniter answered the people's pleas. The people of our kingdom always need a ruler of iron will and fist. Yet, the neighboring nations decided otherwise. As she was about to unify our broken nation once more, the political figures of the old order, the last queen's equally oppressive peers, stepped in and disposed of our land's savior.

They told us that we are free. Once more, we are free to descend into chaos.

It was in the olden days considered that the chroniclers were the most important of the old orders. Laboring away day and night, recording all of the little happenings of the greater realms, the chroniclers had been imparted with the monumental task of preserving the history of Zytegna. Their maesters would boast to the new initiates of how it was a task assigned them by divine machination. Or so that is what has reached my ears.

Scribes, translators and archivists littered their ranks, using any such instrument that might aide them in their greater cause. Skins of animals as extravagant as krakens and mammoths, quills made of feathers plucked from chimeras and the wings of harpies. Such were the tools and luxuries the order of the chroniclers was afforded. Their scribblings formed a vast library – or rather, I should call it an archive, upon which their pristine, marbel athenaeum once rest. This underground archive once had more books in one of its rudimentary halls than all of Forencia, from what I have heard.

It was their thinking they had taken the favor of the autarchy and that it was for this reason their order was given such prestige over the others. (I should mention there were many more orders – and there are still many more so.) And it might have been – in fact, it was likely true. But like all things, an authoritarian favor does not last till the end of days.

Now, there is nothing but ashes and charred wood, baked leather and singed quills, burned parchment and fading text, a marbel column and a collapsed roof and but one surviving member. If you would count me among their ranks, you might say there are yet two but I must confess that I am not knowledgeable of their ways and traditions nor am I a learned man. It is simply so that I understand the importance of preserving who we once were, who we are now, who we might have been and who we might yet be. It was for this reason that I departed upon the journey that I am chronicling now and it is for this reason that I have undertaken this task, sacrilegious as it may be. And yet it is also because there is not one more than I to do this.

Before I begin, however, it is important to understand the elder teachings, the knowledge imparted upon the realm by the hierophants of the Order of the Sun. They, and a large portion of the Forencian population, out of fear of torturous reprimand, heed the books of the All-Father. I, myself, am not devoutly religious and the Sun does not mind this – it is only by being blasphemous that someone might incur the wrath of the autarchy. It is not for me to say, but I might venture a guess that the order of the chroniclers might have been smitten as they were for similar reasons.

Nonetheless, as I have mentioned before, it is important for me to begin from the very start, for you, my reader, may not be as acquainted with the teachings of the Land of the Sun as I am.

Spoiler

It's the introduction from the novel I've been working on on and off for the past few months. I'm about 19k words in and haven't really shared it with anyone. I might upload bits and pieces of it when I feel more confident about my writing.

We sat in the dark, cold with nervousness and sweat. My tongue felt swollen as if I was stricken with an allergic reaction. My breath was short and my eyes darted through the darkness even though I couldn't make out a thing. From my side I hear, "We got this. Stop being nervous." From the other side, on my right someone else spoke out, "For a leader, you're not really setting a good example to follow." How did they know I was nervous?

"We can hear the sweat drops." I hear from the right.

"Really?" I shouted.

"He's pulling your leg, Zeke." I hear from the left.

"No I'm not, but I can pull your leg if you want me to."

Suddenly the room flared with red revealing the walls around us, with the front wall slowing lifting up. I turn to my left to see Gabriella and then I turn to the right to see Eric. It gave me a surprising rush of confidence seeing their faces, both showing tell tale signs of nervousness. "Alright. Eagles soar!" I shouted while pounding my right fist into my left palm.